UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


.  i8<)5 


Accessions 


COPYRIGHT,    1893 
BY 

FREDERICK   PETERSON 


Electrotyped,  Printed,  and  Bound  by 

Ube  Iknfcfeerbocfcer  press,  mew  J^orft 
G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


PS  3  S3 1 


NOTE. 


Some  of  the  following  verses  were  published  in  a 
volume  entitled  Poems  and-  Swedish  Translations  in 
1883.  Others  have  appeared' since  then  in  Lippincotfs 
Magazine,  the  Cosmopolitan,  the  London  Academy,  and 
other  periodicals,  and  the  author  must  acknowledge  his 
indebtedness  to  their  publishers  for  the  right  to  reprint 
them. 

NEW  YORK,  March,  i8gj. 


irmi  RSI?.? 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

I 


HEREDITY 

ENVIRONMENT 

MICROCOSM       ......»•• 

THE  SWEETEST  FLOWER  THAT  BLOWS      .... 

SOLITUDE  ......<•••• 

RESURGAM 

THE  IDIOT 

THE  FLAME  IN  THE  WIND 

THE  CRUSADER 

THE  WAYSIDE  CRUCIFIX II 

IN  THE  HARZ I2 

VILLANELLE X3 

THE  SICILIAN  TRIAD 1 5 

A  STUDY  IN  GRAY     .  T7 

HAPPINESS         .  .18 

SORROW *9 

CREMATION  20 


NIVERSITY 


VI  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

IN  THE  ROSE-GARDEN  OF  SAADI 22 

MY  LADY  LAY  ALL  LISTLESSLY 23 

A  MORNING  SONG 24 

To  PSYCHE        ..........     25 

THE  ZOROASTRIAN 26 

BETWEEN  THE  TWILIGHT  AND  THE  DAWN         .        ,         .         .27 
AN  UNFORGOTTEN  SONG    ........     29 

SOLACE      .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .  .30 

WHAT  DYING  Is        .........     31 

IN  PRISON .        .         .33 

THE  ARROWS 34 

THE  WATER-LILIES  .         .         .        .        .         .         .        .         .35 

THE  ROBBER 37 

SNOW         ...........     38 

ON  THE  MOLDAU        .  •         .     39 

FORESHADOWING       .........    40 

A  NIGHT  THOUGHT 41 

AUTUMN  SONG  .         .         .         .        .         .         .         .         .         .42 

A  RAINY  NIGHT        .........     43 

AT  THE  GREEN-FIR  TAVERN  .     45 

To  A  SONGSTRESS 47 

THE  SISTERS 49 

CLAIRVOYANCE 50 

To  THE  SILENT  KING 51 


CONTENTS  Vll 

PAGE 
THE  BLIND  MAN  AND  THE  SLEEPER 54 

THE  BLUEBELLS'  CHORUS 58 

THE  NUN 59 

REMORSE 60 

SPHINX  FOUNTAIN 61 

VISITATION 62 

THE  QUEST 63 

OFF  CRETE 64 

WINTER    ...........     65 

A  BALLAD  OF  WAR-TIME 66 

To  LITTLE  ROSALIE  .........     68 

THE  WRAITH  AND  THE  ROSES 70 

THE  PYTHONESS        .         .        .        .        .        .        .         .         .71 

THE  POEM 72 

To  AN  OUTCAST 73 

LENAU       .         .         .         .         .        .        .        .        .         .         .74 

THE  MUMMY 75 

To  LILI 76 

HIDE  AND  SEEK 77 

MOONRISE         .        .        .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .78 

THE  PHANTOMS  IN  MY  DREAMS  RESEMBLE        .        .        .        -79 
SAY  NOT  GOOD-BYE  .........     80 

A  HEALTH 81 

To  A  MODERN  LILITH  .        .        .82 


Vlll  CONTENTS 


PAGE 


A  WISH     .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .  .         .83 

STEADFASTNESS 84 

FROM  THE  PRISON  WINDOWS     .         .  .         .  .85 

THE  LONELY  HOUSE          ........     86 

NATURE  AND  MAN 87 

THE  UNKNOWN  Music 88 

THE  OASIS         . .     89 

MIGRATION •.         .     90 

SLUMBER  SONG  .        . 91 

To  COUNT  CARL  VON  SNOILSKY         .         .        .        .  92 

WHERE'ER  You  Go .         .93 

AN  IDLE  SPARROW'S  SONG 94 

HER  SOUL  AND  BODY       •  .         .         .         .  .         .         .95 

A  WOOD  THOUGHT .         .96 

REINCARNATION        .........     97 

SUNSET .         .98 

RESIGNATION  99 

IN  A  DAHABIAH         .         . 100 

RESURRECTION  .         .         .         .         •         .         .         .         .         '103 
STARLIGHT  AND  BULBUL    ........   104 

THE  DREAM-CHILD 105 

WITH  SOME  LILIES-OF-THE- VALLEY  ......   106 

FOR  A  DEAD  COMEDIAN    ........  107 

FATE  .  108 


CONTENTS.  IX 

PAGE 

THE  LOST  ARGOSIKS  •  IO9 

HYPNOTISM 

HOPES       ...  •  II2 

No  MORE  ...  •   II3 

WIND-MUSIC     .......  •  IX4 

Do  NOT  GROW  OLD •  II6 

Two  VIOLETS  SHINING  IN  THE  DEW  .  117 

THE  CHURCH  OF  ST.  JACQUES  .        .        .        .     •    .        .         .  n8 

RONDEL •        •  •  TI9 

A  SONG  OF  YESTERDAY I2° 

EAST  AND  WEST •  I21 

REMINISCENCE  OF  TATOI I22 

WITH  A  BOOK  OF  VERSES I23 


IN  THE  SHADE  OF  YGDRASIL 


HEREDITY. 

I  MEET  upon  the  woodland  ways 

At  morn  a  lady  fair  ; 
Adown  her  slender  shoulders  strays 

Her  raven  hair  ; 

And  none  who  looks  into  her  eyes 
Can  fail  to  feel  and  know 

That  in  this  conscious  clay  there  lies 
Some  soul  aglow. 

But  I,  who  meet  her  oft  about 
The  woods  in  morning  song, 

I  see  behind  her  far  stretch  out 
A  ghostly  throng — 


IN   THE   SHADE   OF    YGDRASIL. 

A  priest,  a  prince,  a  lord,  a  maid, 

Faces  of  grief  and  sin, 
A  high-born  lady  and  a  jade, 

A  harlequin — 

Two  lines  of  ghosts  in  masquerade, 
Who  push  her  where  they  will, 

As  if  it  were  the  wind  that  swayed 
A  daffodil. 

She  sings,  she  weeps,  she  smiles,  she  sighs, 
Looks  cruel,  sweet  or  base  ; 

The  features  of  her  fathers  rise 
And  haunt  her  face. 

As  if  it  were  the  wind  that  swayed 

Some  stately  daffodil, 
Upon  her  face  they  masquerade 

And  work  their  will. 


ENVIRONMENT. 

HIGH  up  around  the  mountain  rock 

Wild  sweep  the  lightning  and  the  storm  ; 

The  spruce  grows  firm  against  their  shock, 
Stunted  and  gnarled  and  rude  of  form, 

With  twisted  roots  that  interlock. 

But  by  the  rivulet  far  below, 

Up  from  the  rich  dark  loam  and  drift, 
Where  storms  come  not  and  winds  are  slow, 

Behold  the  stately  willow  lift 
And  sway  long  branches  to  and  fro  ! 


MICROCOSM. 

UPON  the  morning  path  one  sees, 
When  all  the  land  is  green  and  new, 

The  sun,  the  skies,  the  clouds,  the  trees, 
Deep-mirrored  in  a  drop  of  dew. 

Ah,  had  we  more  than  mortal  eyes 
To  pierce  the  sombre  shadows  here, 

Might  we  not  see  how  trembling  lies 
The  universe  within  a  tear  ? 


THE  SWEETEST  FLOWER  THAT  BLOWS. 

THE  sweetest  flower  that  blows 

I  give  you  as  we  part  ; 
For  you  it  is  a  rose  ; 

For  me  it  is  my  heart. 

The  fragrance  it  exhales, 

(Ah,  if  you  only  knew  !) 
Which  but  in  dying  fails, 

It  is  my  love  of  you. 

The  sweetest  flower  that  grows 

I  give  you  as  we  part  ; 
You  think  it  but  a  rose  ; 

Ah,  me  !  it  is  my  heart. 


SOLITUDE. 

IT  is  the  bittern's  solemn  cry 
Far  out  upon  the  lonely  moors, 

Where  steel-gray  pools  reflect  the  sky, 
And  mists  arise  in  dim  contours. 

Save  this,  no  murmur  on  their  verge 
Doth  stir  the  stillness  of  the  reeds  ; 

Silent  the  water-snakes  emerge 

From  writhing  depths  of  water-weeds. 

Through  sedge  or  gorse  of  that  morass 
There  shines  no  light  of  moon  or  star  ; 

Only  the  fen-fires  gleam  and  pass 
Along  the  low  horizon  bar. 

It  is  the  bittern's  solemn  cry, 

As  if  it  voiced,  with  mournful  stress, 

The  strange  hereditary  sigh 
Of  age  on  age  of  loneliness. 


RESURGAM. 

THE  stars  shine  clearly  in  the  winter  night  ; 

Beneath  the  ice  no  stream  is  heard  to  run  ; 
The  old  green  fields  are  still  and  waste  and  white ; 

River  and  field  are  now  become  as  one. 

But  not  for  aye  shall  all  this  silence  be, 

Erelong  new  life  shall  stir  beneath  the  snow, 

And  we  may  hear  quite  softly  presently 

The  murmur  of  grasses  and  the  river's  flow. 

So,  O  my  heart,  though  thou  mayst  soon  become 
Likewise  as  cold,  and  lie  as  silently, 

It  is  not  long  that  thou  must  sleep,  be  dumb, 
Before  again  new  life  shall  thrill  through  thee  ! 


THE  IDIOT. 

THROUGH  his  misshapen  soul  and  brain 
No  thought  has  passed  and  left  its  trace, 

And  all  that  brings  man  joy  and  pain, 
Finds  in  his  heart  no  dwelling-place  ; 
His  life  is  the  world's  stain.' 

The  horrid  vacant  visage  leers 
And  shows  its  heritage  of  woe, 

Its  scars — the  sins  of  ancient  years. 
Could  any  love  or  hate  it  ? — No  ! 
Pity  may  give  her  tears. 


THE  FLAME  IN  THE  WIND. 

IT  starts  and  shivers,  pales  and  trembles, 
Now  fixed  and  certain,  now  despairing  ; 

Now  thin,  it  some  wan  ghost  resembles, 
Once  bright  and  beaming  and  uncaring. 

At  length  behold  it  leap  and  quiver, 

With  its  last  strength,  but  fade  in  trying 

Thus  I  too  start  and  pale  and  shiver, 
Now  fixed  and  certain  and  now  dying. 


THE  CRUSADER. 

His  loved  ones  from  the  turret  see 

The  knight  with  lance  and  shining  mail 

Who  rides  away  across  the  lea — 

O  Heaven  forbid  that  he  should  fail  ! 

Long  years  he  fights  in  holy  wars 

In  the  far  lands  of  Palestine, 
And  now  returning  with  his  scars, 

He  dreams  of  those  who  wait  and  pine. 

Victorious  from  the  Holy  Lands, 
He  seeks  again  his  native  shores  ; 

Red  in  the  sun  his  castle  stands — 

But  weeds  have  grown  before  his  doors  ! 


10 


THE  WAYSIDE  CRUCIFIX. 

A  WOODEN  Christ,  beside  the  way, 
It  marks  this  still  and  sacred  spot, 

Where  people  passing,  pause  to  pray 
That  He  forget  them  not. 

The  winds  are  cold  and  black  the  skies, 
The  rain  falls  from  that  drooping  face 

Like  tears,  like  tears  from  sorrowing  eyes, 
And  floods  the  holy  place. 

It  is  a  pitying  Christ  !  alas  ! 

And  shall  I  halt  or  shall  I  flee  ? 
O  should  I  pray  here  as  I  pass 

That  He  forget  not  me? 


ii 


IN  THE  HARZ. 

ACROSS  the  mountain  and  the  valley 
The  goat-bells  tinkle,  tinkle,  tinkle  ; 

The  warm  winds  whisper,  sing  and  dally 
In  heather  bloom  and  periwinkle  ; 

The  fir-trees  change  their  gloom  for  smiling ; 

The  long  sounds  from  the  distant  churches 
Float  up  enchanting  and  beguiling, 

And  lose  themselves  among  the  birches  ; 

The  red-roofed  hamlets  seem  like  roses 
Which  drowsily  the  eyes  may  number, 

And  far  and  wide  the  blue  sky  closes 

O'er  those  who  dream  and  those  who  slumber. 


12 


VILLANELLE. 

THROUGH  these  long  months  thy  love  shall  bless 

A  lonely  roamer  over  seas, 
So  love  me  more  and  sorrow  less. 

Each  tender  smile,  each  past  caress — 

How  very  dear  to  him  are  these, 
Whom  through  long  years  thy  love  shall  bless, 

Who  to  his  bosom  aye  shall  press 

The  new-found  flower  of  love — heart's-ease  ! 
So  love  me  more  and  sorrow  less. 

To  listening  Fates  each  night  address 

A  low-voiced  prayer  upon  thy  knees, 
That  they  long  years  our  love  may  bless. 
13 


14  IN   THE  SHADE   OF    YGDRASIL. 

Perhaps  the  pitying  Sisters  guess 

How  Hope  the  loveless  bosom  flees  : 
Love,  love  me  more — to  sorrow  less  ! 

Love  shall  come  back  in  tenderness, 
Across  the  months,  across  the  seas, 
The  steadfast  love  thy  love  doth  bless  ; 
So  love  me  more  and  sorrow  less. 


THE  SICILIAN  TRIAD. 

WHERE  are  they  gone, 

Ah,  whither  fled, 
The  songs  at  dawn  ? 
Where  are  they  gone  ? 
We  muse  upon 

Their  singers  dead. 
Where  are  they  gone, 

Ah,  whither  fled  ? 

Sweet  sounds  they  drew 
From  heath  and  hill, 
Where  soft  winds  blew — 
Sweet  sounds  they  drew, 
Grown  faint  and  few 

And  almost  still  ; 
Sweet  sounds  they  drew 
From  heath  and  hill. 
15 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 


1 6  IN   THE  SHADE   OF    YGDRASIL. 

Ah,  now  no  more 

Such  songs  are  sung. 
The  years  of  yore 
Come  now  no  more, 
With  their  sweet  lore 
In  sweeter  tongue. 
Ah,  now  no  more 
Such  songs  are  sung. 


A  STUDY  IN  GRAY. 

THE  trees  are  gray,  and  gray  the  grasses, 
Since  autumn  flamed  and  died  in  glory  ; 
The  skies,  the  seas,  the  mountain-masses, 
Are  gray  and  hoary. 

The  light  grows  gray  when  evening  flashes 
Her  beams  across  the  tower  and  spire ; 
And  ah,  how  gray  are  now  the  ashes 
Of  love  once  fire  ! 


HAPPINESS. 

SHE  smiles  and  sings  the  livelong  day — 

A  very  happy  maiden  she, 
Whose  blessed  fancies  charm  away 

Her  sorrows  and  her  misery. 

How  sad  and  strange  the  people  here  ! 

They  sigh  and  shriek  and  whisper  things 
To  shun,  to  loathe,  to  dread,  to  fear — 

But  all  the  day  she  smiles  and  sings. 

'T  is  sweet  to  know  that  there  can  be 
Someone  whose  woe  has  taken  wings — 

A  very  happy  creature  she 

Who  all  the  day  long  smiles  and  sings  ! 


18 


SORROW. 

SHE  came  a  queen  in  robes  of  gray, 
And  doleful  chants  her  maidens  sung  ; 

She  drove  alas  !  all  joy  away, 

With  her  sad  eyes  and  mournful  tongue. 

"  And  art  thou  really  Sorrow  ?  "  her 
Some  sudden  fancy  made  me  ask  ; 

She  answered  not,  but  I  aver, 
/  saw  her  smile  behind  her  mask  ! 


CREMATION. 

THOU  tender  blossom,  more  than  human, 
Because  so  fair  and  pure  and  humble, 

O  lovely  flower,  how  could  I  doom  one 
So  dear  to  droop  defiled — to  crumble 
Like  man  and  woman  ! 

And  so,  thou  flower  of  flowers,  I  swore  it 
That  one  thing,  one,  should  not  so  perish, 

That  mocking  Fate  should  laugh  not  o'er  it, 
Not  alway  mar  what  most  I  cherish, 
While  I  deplore  it. 

Thus  on  the  white  hot  coals  I  place  thee, 

Among  the  ferns  of  some  gone  aeon  ; 

In  shining  vesture  they  do  grace  thee, 

And  perfumes  as  from,  isles 

Do  soft  embrace  thee. 
20 


IN   THE  SHADE  OF    YGDRASIL.  21 

No  taint,  no  blemish,  naught  but  ashes — 
Of  such  fine  death  thy  frame  is  worthy  : 

The  ermine  couch  with  damask  flashes, 
Quick  change  of  heavenly  back  to  earthy, 
No  soul  abashes. 

O  bud  half-open,  thy  sweet  splendor 

Is  risen  from  the  fiery  portal, 
And  atoms  which  through  stem  so  slender 

Had  crept  into  a  bloom  immortal, 
Their  work  surrender  ! 


IN  THE   ROSE-GARDEN  OF  SAADL 

A  RARE  old  garden  this  is,  Saadi  ; 
You  made  it  centuries  ago, 
But  roses  here  still  bloom  and  blow, 

And  souls  are  called  here  from  the  body 
To  wander  happily  to  and  fro. 

A  rare  old  garden,  Saadi,  this  is, 

To  walk  in  when  the  winds  are  brusk  ; 
These  flowers  exhale  an  opiate  musk 

Which  soothes  the  spirit  in  its  blisses 
Afloat  upon  the  purple  dusk. 

This  garden,  Saadi,  rare  and  old  is  : 
Whom  can  I  ask  to  share  its  bloom, 
Its  damask  vapors  and  perfume, 

Its  red  beds  where  the  sunset's  gold  is  ? 
Whom  else  to  share  it,  Saadi,  whom  ? 


22 


MY  LADY  LAY  ALL  LISTLESSLY. 

MY  lady  lay  all  listlessly, 
With  the  doomed  day  about  to  die  ; 
And  did  her  lips  in  moving  pray  ? 
'T  was  thus  my  lady  lay. 

Her  eyes  were  full  of  sombre  light, 
As  if  she  knew  of  nearing  night 
And  gazed  upon  an  unknown  way — 
'T  was  thus  my  lady  lay. 

Half  rising  heavily  on  her  hand, 
She  looked  a  long  look  o'er  the  land 
Growing  with  gloaming  into  gray — 
Then  low  my  lady  lay. 

A  soft  sob  and  a  softer  sigh, 
Like  leaves  that  stir  when  winds  pass  by- 
Be  meek  and  mourn  as  mourn  I  may, 
For  low  my  lady  lay. 


A  MORNING  SONG. 

THE  night  is  gone,  the  winds  renew, 
The  stars  have  vanished  one  by  one  ; 

The  flowers  uplift  their  cups  of  dew 
And  drink  a  health  unto  the  sun. 

The  balmy  air  is  full  of  bloom  ; 

White  drifts  are  wafted  to  and  fro, 
Filling  the  orchard's  ample  room 

With  soft,  sweet-scented  summer  snow. 

I  could  no  longer  find  my  woes 
Were  I  to  seek  them  all  the  day  ; 

They  are  too  deep  in  summer  snows, 
The  orchard  blooms  are  in  the  way  ! 


24 


TO    PSYCHE. 

BLOWN  by  the  wind  and  pale  as  a  flower  or  a  phantom, 
Lo  !  thou  gleamest  again  at  the  gate  of  the  garden, 
Which  the  sun  and  the  moon  no  longer  remember, 
Nor  angels  keep  ward  in. 

Come,  let  me  once  more  clasp  and  hold  and  behold  thee, 
Just  as  of  old  where  the  last  gleam  red  in  the  snows  is, 
Though  there  are  leaves  no  longer,  though  low  are  the 
lilies, 

Though  ruined  the  roses. 

Stay,  I  will  open  the  gate  of  .the  olden  garden, 
Wait,  thou  shalt  enter  the  heart  that  is  worn  and  shat 
tered, 

Whose  fair  hopes  are  gone  and  forever  forgotten, 
Like  flower-leaves  scattered. 

Circles  of  cloud  arise  on  the  far  horizon, 
Gather  and  cover  with  gloom  the  gold  of  the  garden, 
Which  the  sun  and  the  moon  no  longer  remember, 
Nor  angels  keep  ward  in. 


THE  ZOROASTRIAN. 

As  once  perhaps  in  olden  days 

Beneath  the  far-off  Persian  skies, 
Some  reverent  one  of  patient  ways 

Did  hours  before  the  sun  arise, 
To  hasten  in  the  starlit  morn 

Up  some  high  hill  when  winds  were  cold, 
To  wait  the  moment  day  is  born, 

To  kneel  before  the  disk  of  gold  ; 
And  when  the  long  rays  were  descried, 

Which  leaped  forth  from  the  golden  rim 
Of  that  great  star  he  deified, 

To  pour  out  orisons  to  him — 
As  may  have  done  this  devotee, 

I  wake,  I  wait,  I  kneel  to  thee  ! 


26 


BETWEEN  THE  TWILIGHT  AND  THE   DAWN. 

BETWEEN  the  twilight  and  the  dawn, 

While  slumber  holds  my  limbs  and  senses, 

Save  the  slow  breathing,  life  has  gone 
And  left  to  sleep  her  slight  defenses. 

How  still  my  body  lies,  how  quiet, 
Between  the  twilight  and  the  dawn  ! 

How  much  more  rnadly  fancies  riot 
Because  it  sleeps  in  silence  on  ! 

How  much  more  wild,  how  much  more  free, 
How  much  more  fanciful  my  soul  is  ! 

It  roams  thy  room,  unknown  to  thee, 
Entranced  among  thy  holy  holies. 

And  oh,  if  it  do  bend  so  near 

That  thy  too  tremulous  lips  it  brushes, 

Yet  in  thy  dreaming  have  no  fear, 
But  sleep  on  in  unbroken  hushes  ! 
27 


28  IN    THE   SHADE   OF    YGDRASIL. 

To  some  sweet  place  my  soul  is  gone, 

While  slumber  holds  my  limbs  and  senses, 

Between  the  twilight  and  the  dawn — 
O  Death,  destroy  their  frail  defenses 

And  let  them  moveless  slumber  on  ! 


AN  UNFORGOTTEN  SONG. 

ONE  day  to  me  an  angel  gave 
A  melody  unknown  of  men  ; 

Down  in  my  heart  I  made  a  grave — 
The  song  I  buried  then. 

I  did  not  make  the  grave  so  deep 
In  that  long  gone  remembered  hour, 

But  that  its  ghost  now  haunts  my  sleep 
With  all  its  mournful  power. 

There  is  a  murmuring  in  my  sleep — 
A  melody  unknown  of  men — 

I  did  not  make  its  grave  so  deep 
But  that  it  comes  again. 


29 


SOLACE. 

WHEN  ills  assail  you  and  Hope  shows  no  way, 

And  Beauty  dwells  apart, 
Then  shut  your  eyes  against  the  garish  day, 

Look  down  into  your  heart ! 

When  sordid  cares  quench  even  the  soul's  light, 

And  discord  dims  and  mars, 
Go  forth  into  the  loneliness  of  night 

And  scan  the  quiet  stars  ! 


WHAT  DYING  IS. 

To  leave  the  turmoil  and  the  careful  tumult, 
And  wander  vaguely  to  a  pleasant  region 
Where  green  fields  glow  with  sheen  of  summer  sunset, 
And  narrow  farther  to  a  sylvan  vista 
Whence  issue  sounds  to  soothe  the  spirit's  trouble  ; 
To  hear  the  laugh  and  gurgle  of  low  waters, 
And  young  birds  singing  with  diviner  music, 
And  young  birds  carolling  with  lovelier  music, 
And  evening  winds  that  walk  with  fainter  footfall 
Unto  the  white  clouds  and  the  bluer  sky-depths  ; 
To  rest  a  little  some  green  willow  under, 
Whose  branches  whisper  in  the  shadow-garden, 
And  hold  the  hand  which  hath  the  tenderest  pressure, 
And  touch  sweet  lips  just  as  thine  eyes  are  closing  : 
This  is  that  failing  ere  the  sunset's  fading, 
This  is  that  dying  ere  the  morn  immortal. 
31 


32  IN    THE   SHADE   OF    YGDRASIL. 

To  see  blue-hooded  violets  reposing 

Among  the  grasses  twining  to  caress  thee 

And  kiss  thy  cheek,  as  if  thou  wert  a  sister, 

And  warm  thee  with  their  breath  of  heavenly  odor, 

As  if  thou  wert  to  them  indeed  a  sister  ; 

To  find  some  quiet  in  the  willow  vista, 

Some  little  slumber  in  the  shadow-garden  : 

This  is  that  evening  of  thy  dreamless  sleeping, 

This  is  that  slumber  ere  the  life  immortal. 

A  gentle  waking  to  a  newer  beauty, 

A  gradual  unfolding  to  the  soul-life, 

As  't  were  a  rose's  chrysalid  transported 

Into  the  blooming  valley  of  that  Eden  ; 

A  slow  unfolding  of  an  early  blossom  ; 

A  little  kneeling  at  the  sapphire  portals, 

And  consciousness  of  all  surcease  of  heartache, 

Tumultuous  tremor  as  the  soul  receiveth 

The  grander  splendor  of  the  spheral  chorus 

That  joy  which  "  passeth  human  understanding  "  : 

This  is  that  coming  of  another  morning, 

This  is  that  morning  of  the  life  immortal ! 


IN  PRISON. 

DEAR  maid  !  put  your  head  to  my  breast,  you  will  hear 

The  prisoner  drearily  pacing  his  cell — 
What  's  this  !  does  he  stumble,  or  dream  you  are  near, 

And  dreaming  you  near  does  he  stumble  as  well  ? 

For  twenty  long  years  in  the  gloom  I  have  heard 
The  prisoner's  footsteps — for  twenty  or  more — 

Life-sentence  it  is — and  he  never  has  stirred 

From  his  steady,  strong  tramp  till  this  hour  before  ! 

Dear  maid  !  put  your  head  to  my  breast,  you  will  hear 
The  prisoner  knock  in  the  gloom  of  his  cell — 

How  he  strikes  on  the  walls,  in  his  frenzy  and  fear, 
Lest  you  go  and  not  hear  what  he  wishes  to  tell  ! 


33 


THE  ARROWS. 

I  AM  sore  wounded  ; 
I  sat  in  the  woodland 

As  the  moon  rose  ; 
I  arose  when  the  moon  did, 
And  walked  in  the  woodland  ; 

How  sad  the  wind  blows.! 

She  came  when  the  moon  did, 
The  sweet  rose,  the  fair  rose  ; 

How  the  wind  sighs  ! 
Ah  !  I  am  sore  wounded, 
By  the  keen  arrows 

That  came  from  her  eyes. 


34 


THE  WATER-LILIES. 

ON  slender  piles  above  the  river, 

The  mansions  of  the  lakemen  stand  ; 

The  calm  blue  waters  kiss  and  quiver  ; 
The  airs  bring  perfume  from  the  land. 

All  day  the  lakemen  dreaming  lie, 

The  fine  airs  over,  waters  under, 
On  golden  beds  beneath  the  sky 

Which  sunshine  makes  a  golden  wonder. 

At  night-fall  close  their  four  green  doors 

Lest  some  stray  moonbeam,  dangerous  fellow, 

Should  feast  upon  the  precious  stores 
Of  perfume  and  of  honey  mellow. 

All  night  the  lakemen  lie  in  slumbers, 
The  too  sweet  day  in  sleep  forgetting  ; 

The  waves  chime  low  in  tuneful  numbers  ; 
No  memory  makes  a  vain  regretting. 

35 


36  IN   THE  SHADE   OF    YGDRASIL. 

Happy  the  lakemen  dreaming  so 
Upon  their  couches  golden-yellow, 

With  nought  of  sorrow  or  of  woe — 

Would  I  were  with  them,  careless  fellow ! 


THE  ROBBER. 

QUICK  !  see  the  lawless  brigand  go 
Around  the  hill  and  through  the  wold, 

With  pearls  and  diamonds  all  aglow, 
And  all  agleam  with  stolen  gold  ! 

Now  hidden  in  the  secret  woods, 
He  hath  no  longer  need  to  fret, 

But  softly  counts  his  precious  goods — 
The  robber  is  the  rivulet. 


37 


SNOW. 

SOME  snowflakes  fallen  from  afar, 

Pale,  cold,  of  shining  purity, 
Seem  like  unto  a  beauteous  star, 

But  they  are  much  more  like  to  thee — 
I  cannot  write  how  like  they  are. 

The  sun  may  look  out  any  day, 
And  they  will  seek  again  the  skies, 

But  not  till  melted  quite  away 

To  drops  which  sparkle  like  thine  eyes — 

Ah  me,  if  thou  wouldst  melt  as  they ! 

Because  so  beautiful  and  far, 

So  pale  and  cold  in  purity, 
I  deem  them  like  a  lovely  star, 

But  they  are  much  more  like  to  thee — 
Ah  Heaven,  how  very  like  they  are  ! 


ON  THE  MOLDAU. 

THE  sun  lies  red  upon  the  river, 
The  last  glad  sun  that  we  shall  see, 

For  night  comes  soon  to  part  forever, 
To  part  forever  you  and  me. 

We  have  known  joy,  we  have  known  sorrow, 
We  have  known,  ah  !  too  much  of  pain — 

But  more  and  more  and  more  to-morrow 
Shall  come  the  shadows  back  again. 

The  sun  lies  red  above  the  river, 
The  last  glad  sun  that  we  shall  see, 

For  night  comes  soon  to  part  forever, 
To  part  forever  you  and  me. 


39 


FORESHADOWING. 

THY  innocent  heart  it  has  throbbed  into  breaking, 
And  a  trance  in  thy  face  makes  it  paler  and  colder — 
How  blest  is  the  fancy  there  may  be  a  waking 
When  the  ages  are  older  ! 

That  somewhere  away  in  the  barren  abysses 
My  shadow  may  meet  thine,  and  mingle- in  meeting 
With  sweeter  caresses  than  those  of  our  kisses, 
Which  on  earth  were  so  fleeting  ! 

That  mine  may  afar  in  strange  regions  draw  near  it, 
Abroad  in  the  cold,  in  the  dim-lighted  spaces  ; 
That  again  and  again  and  again  the  dark  spirit 
It  may  clasp  in  embraces  ! 

O  Fancy,  sweet  Fancy,  steal,  steal  away  reason, 
And  tell  me  when  comes  this  divorcement  from  sorrow, 
And  when  shall  this  bliss  be,  this  heavenly  season — 
To-morrow  ?     To  morrow. 


40 


A  NIGHT-THOUGHT. 

UP  from  my  heart's  recesses, 
In  dream-wrought  draperies, 

Thy  spirit  often  presses 
Among  my  phantasies. 

Yet  spite  of  my  persuading, 

Erelong  thou  art  away — 
No  charm  can  keep  thy  fading 

Sweet  soul  till  break  of  day. 

Thou  comest  and  thou  goest, 

Still,  softly,  silently  ; 
My  heart  's  the  shrine  thou  knowest, 

I  '11  keep  it  sweet  for  thee. 

And  none  shall  know  thy  story 

Until  thine  eyes  renew 
The  sombre  old  brown  glory 

That  gleamed  ere  they  withdrew. 


AUTUMN  SONG. 

MOURNFULLY    we    gather    up    the    treasures    of     the 

meadows, 

Knowing  that  the  winter  will  destroy  the  many  flowers  ; 
Icy  is  his  breath  ;  he  ever  broods  amid  the  shadows, 
Where  of  old  the  thrushes  through  the  happiest  of  hours 
Sang  among  the  bowers. 

Search    no    more    the    woodland's    immemorial   dream- 
spaces 
For  the  golden  summer  that  had  scattered  her  sweet 

nard  in 

All  the  old  remembered  and  most  musical  of  places — 
Lo  !  behold  the  Storm-king  as  he  spreads  upon  the 
garden 

Snows  to  drift  and  harden. 


42 


A  RAINY  NIGHT. 

THE  night  is  dark  and  long  winds  moan  ; 

Without,  the  firelight  casts  no  glow  ; 
The  rain  repeats  its  undertone 

Unceasingly  of  woe. 

Strange  !  but  it  seemed  a  face  looked  in, 
So  piteously  and  yet  so  mild  ; 

Some  mother  dead  it  must  have  been, 
Who  seeks  her  sorrowing  child. 

"  Come  to  me,  grieve  no  more,  ah,  stay  ! 

May  I  not  be  beloved  too  ? 
I  will  throw  off  these  robes  of  clay 

To  roam  the  earth  with  you." 

Then  all  the  window  seemed  aflame 
From  features  heavenly,  womanly, 

"  Mother  of  God,  I  know  thy  name — 
Turn  not  thy  face  from  me." 
43 


44  IN   THE   SHADE   OF    YGDRASIL. 

It  is  a  dream — the  long  winds  moan  ; 

Without,  the  firelight  casts  no  glow  ; 
The  rain  repeats  its  undertone 

Unceasingly  of  woe. 


AT  THE    GREEN  FIR  TAVERN. 

DOWN  through  the  windows  open  wide, 
To  fix  the  noonday  on  the  floor, 

The  fir-tree's  gloomy  fingers  glide — 

They  glide  and  pause  and  glide  once  more. 

There  sits  the  round-faced  drowsy  host ! 

Perhaps  some  phantom  from  his  pipe, 
Floats  forth  to  lull — some  smoke-like  ghost 

Of  Bacchus  when  the  grape  is  ripe. 

Without,  a  gray  old  harper  stands, 

And  through  the  noiseless  golden  noon, 

The  strings  pour  forth  beneath  his  hands 
A  wailing,  sweet  Italian  tune. 

A  lonely  traveller  sits  and  dreams, 

And  dreams  have  filled  his  soul  anew  : 

The  mountain  wine,  the  music,  seems 
To  set  his  sad  heart  singing  too. 
45 


46  IN    THE   SHADE   OF    YGDRASIL. 

For  Her  the  harper  strikes  the  strings  ; 

The  traveller's  dream,  this  song,  is  Hers  ; 
And  loud  of  Her  the  throstle  sings 

Within  the  twilight  of  the  firs. 


TO  A  SONGSTRESS. 

A  TONE  melodious  and  low 

As  we  have  sometime  heard  in  dreams, 
With  mellow,  modulated  flow 

Of  murmurs  under  streams, 
A  tone  blithe  birds  in  happy  valley, 

On  branches  swaying  to  and  fro, 
May  answer  clear  and  musically. 

That  tone  is  thine,  and  since  to  me 
It  seems  as  sweet  and  rare  a  note 

As  e'er  was  plained  by  bird,  or  bee 
That  singeth  in  a  lily's  throat, 

Then  let  my  verse  faint,  far  and  lowly, 
Breathe  these  poor  praises  unto  thee, 

As  echoes  of  their  echoes  wholly. 
47 


48  /A'    THE   SHADE   OF    YGDRASIL. 

But  if  thy  voice  be  sweet  and  rare 
As  tunes  of  rill  and  bird  and  bee, 

Thyself  art  like  the  lily  fair 
Wherein  the  bee  sings  joyfully  ; 

And  well  do  they  who  feel  the  power 
Of  one  dear  song  of  thine  declare, 

"  Yea,  thou  art  like  unto  a  flower  ! " 


THE    SISTERS. 

O  DO  you  see  them,  the  four  who  love  me, 
The  mournful  sisters,  whose  voices  hollow 

Come  floating  ever  around,  above  me, 
And  call  me  alway  to  follow,  follow  ? 

Their  pale  hands  beckon,  their  forms  are  swaying, 
Like  white  mist-columns  o'er  marshy  sedges  ; 

O  do  you  see  them,  the  phantoms  straying 
Far  down  and  over  the  world's  drear  edges  ? 

And  one  is  sister  of  Sin  and  Sorrow — 

They  call  her  Madness,  her  eyes  are  hollow, 

She  knows  no  dying,  she  knows  no  morrow  ; 
And  Death  another — and  "  Follow,  follow  ! " 

They  wail  forever  around,  above  me — 

O  do  you  see  them,  the  four  who  love  me  ? 


TJ&I7EHSIT7 


CLAIRVOYANCE. 

DEEP  in  your  lovely  eyes  I  see 

A  wide,  mysterious  domain  ;  • 
Shadows  which  flicker  fitfully 

Around  the  portals  of  your  brain. 

What  phantoms  hurry  to  and  fro, 

What  hidden  lights,  what  sudden  gleams, 

Down  in  the  catacombs  of  woe, 

And  through  the  corridor  of  dreams  ! 


TO    THE  SILENT  KING. 

0  THOU  austere  and  silent  king, 

No  more  my  fancies  do  forswear  thee, 
But  to  thy  shadowy  shrine  they  bring 
This  token  of  the  love  I  bear  thee. 

Though  whom  thy  sad  and  fatal  eyes 
Do  fix  upon  must  fail  and  falter, 

Though  whom  they  see — to-morrow  dies — 
I  hang  these  verses  at  thy  altar. 

1  hang  them  at  thy  shrine,  O  king, 

Amidst  the  moaning  and  the  sighing  ! 
From  hate  I  turn  to  worshipping, 
And  unto  loving  from  defying. 

If  that  God  be,  as  mortals  say, 

Who  changes  what  seems  sweet  to  curses, 


52  IN   THE   SHADE   OF    YGDRASIL. 

Then  bids  us  kneel  to  Him  and  pray — 
I  turn  from  Him  to  ask  thy  mercies. 

Or  if,  as  fewer  men  conceive, 
All  soul  is  due  to  dust's  endeavor 

Its  lowly  form  and  place  to  leave — 
How  much  more  am  I  thine  forever  ! 

For  after  all,  to  him  who  fails, 

Whom  thy  stern  eyes  so  wear  and  wither, 
Thy  fatal  look  so  blights  and  pales, 

Thy  influence  draws  unswerving  hither, 

Thou  grantest  this  :  that  he  shall  sleep 

Through  all  these  centuries'  uproar  listless, 

In  earth's  great  tumult  silence  keep — 
A  sweet  oblivion  and  resistless. 

Ah  !  him  thy  beauteous  eyes  shall  hold 
Till  grief  is  gone  and  past  is  passion  ; 

Then  shalt  thou  to  thy  bosom  fold 
Him  dreamless  in  thy  pitying  fashion. 


IN   THE   SHADE   OF    YGDRASIL.  $3 

So,  Wearer  of  the  Cypress  Crown, 

Thou  sombre  liege  of  my  adoring, 
Here  at  thy  feet  I  lay  me  down, 

Thy  mercy  and  thy  aid  imploring  : 

That  thou  wilt  erelong  deign  to  lay 

Upon  my  head  thy  hand  forgetful, 
So  soothing  all  these  shapes  away 

Which  haunt  me  in  this  fever  fretful ; 

Till  care  and  weariness  shall  cease 

For  me  within  these  shadows  kneeling, 

And  I  shall  feel  thy  blissful  peace, 

Thy  drowsy  languor  through  me  stealing  ; 

And  thou  shalt  hold  me  with  thine  eyes, 

No  more  this  bitterness  deploring, 
Through  all  these  noisy  centuries, 

Thou  silent  God  of  my  adoring  ! 


THE  BLIND  MAN  AND  THE  SLEEPER. 

I  DREAMED  that  I  was  blind  and  groping 

Through  some  strange  door, 
Knowing  not  where  I  was,  but  hoping 

To  fathom  more. 

My  hands  had  grown  so  quick  to  measure, 

My  ears  to  hear — 
Though  blind  I  felt  a  keen  sweet  pleasure, 

But  not  a  fear. 

I  thrust  aside  the  silken  curtain, 

And  entered  there, 
And  roses'  fragrance,  faint,  uncertain, 

Filled  all  the  air. 

Upon  the  floor's  thick  heavy  lining 
I  made  no  sound, 
54 


IN   THE   SHADE   OF    YGDRASIL.  55 

While  carven  chairs  of  quaint  designing 
I  groped  around. 

Fantastic  hangings,  figured  panels 

And  oaken  wall, 
Old  books  that  haply  held  strange  annals — 

I  felt  them  all. 

Sudden  I  started  at  a  sighing 

And  seemed  to  hear 
A  light  breath  as  of  someone  lying 

In  slumber  near. 

The  perfume  of  the  rose  grew  deeper, 

As  to  and  fro 
With  the  soft  breathing  of  the  sleeper, 

I  felt  it  flow. 

1  stood  in  doubt  and  hope  and  wonder 

And  called  a  name, 
Half-frightened  lest  it  were  a  blunder — 

No  answer  came. 


56  IN   THE   SHADE   OF    YGDRASIL. 

And  yet  I  knew  her,  I,  her  lover, 

Who  could  not  see, 
And  bending  down  I  leaned  above  her — 

The  rose  was  she. 

I  felt  the  sofa's  deep  recesses, 

The  silken  gown, 
Whereon  like  one  long  stream,  her  tresses 

Went  flowing  down. 

I  dared  to  touch  the  drooping  eyelid, 
The  smooth  curved  cheek, 

And  fancied  that  in  dreams  she  smiled 
And  fain  would  speak. 

Though  like  a  reed  my  soul  was  shaken 

For  love  of  her, 
I  said  "  No  word  of  mine  shall  waken 

The  slumberer." 

Again  I  stood  and  grasped  the  curtain 
At  the  strange  door  ; 


IN   THE   SHADE   OF    YGDRASIL.  57 

The  roses'  fragrance  then  uncertain 
Grew  more  and  more. 

Ah,  I  should  go  and  she  should  never 

Dream  that  I  spoke  ; 
So  I  passed  through  forever,  ever — 

And  then  awoke. 

Thus  must  we  pass  through  life,  and  dying, 

Leave  nought  divined. 
You  sleep — how  safe  from  sounds  of  sighing  ! — 

And  I  am  blind. 


THE  BLUEBELLS'  CHORUS. 

CHANSON    FANTASTIQUE. 

OUR  carillon  will  carol  on 

In  mellow  melody 
To  invisible  dead  Isabelle, 

Who  is  a  bell  to  be, 
When  the  grass  grows  green  upon  her  grave 

And  swallows  follow  free, 
To  cling  and  swing  and  sing  again 

Upon  their  trysting  tree. 

Our  carillon  will  carol  on 

In  firmer  murmur  then, 
When  the  grass  is  green  as  beryl  on 

The  new  grave  in  the  glen, 
When  invisible  dead  Isabelle 

Is  made  a  flower  again, 
To  chime  and  rhyme  all  time  with  us 

And  know  no  more  of  men. 


THE  NUN. 

HARD  by  a  lonely  garden  walk, 
Too  darkly  hid  for  random  gaze, 

A  lily  bends  upon  its  stalk, 

And  wears  a  shroud  through  all  its  days. 

It  well  might  be  some  holy  nun, 
Dead  long  ago,  though  living  still, 

Hidden  and  pale,  bereft  of  sun, 
And  finding  life  a  load  of  ill. 


59 


REMORSE. 

I  SAW  you  once  and  in  that  hour 
I  wrote  a  song  to  last  a  day, 

Which  said  your  body  seemed  a  flower, 
Your  soul  its  fragrance  seemed  alway. 

You  thought  me  bold  ;  and  now  I  sigh 
Because  the  sorry  rhyme  I  rue  ; 

Alas  !  a  thoughtless  wretch  was  I 
Who  dared  compare  a  flower  to  you  ! 


60 


SPHINX  FOUNTAIN. 

LONG  had  I  sought  in  crowded  cities 

And  many  a  lonely  spot 
The  King  of  Calm  who  soothes  and  pities, 

But  found  him  not. 

Till  yesterday  I  reached  this  valley 

In  a  dim  fragrant  wood, 
Whither  the  winds  soft-singing  rally 

With  tones  subdued, 

Rally  around  a  fountain  yonder 

In  image  of  a  Sphinx  ; 
Who  would  have  peace  with  secret  wonder 

Stoops  down  and  drinks  ! 

The  Sphinx  seems  heedless  of  the  singing  ; 

The  water  bubbles  up  ; 
Between  its  paws  is  chained  and  swinging 

A  skull  for  a  cup. 


61 


VISITATION. 

I  THOUGHT  that  I  had  covered  you 
With  snows  and  roses  of  the  years, 

That  you  were  dead  and  never  knew 
My  face  again  or  felt  my  tears. 

You  saw  me  not,  nor  felt  my  tears, 
For  you  were  dead  and  never  knew 

How  snows  and  roses  of  the  years 
Had  come  in  drifts  to  bury  you. 

But  from  the  grave  where  you  have  lain, 
As  from  the  earth  some  early  flower, 

You  have  arisen,  my  love,  again 

To  pour  forth  fragrance  hour  by  hour. 

A  sad  sweet  presence  hour  by  hour — 
It  is  my  love  has  risen  again, 

As  bursts  in  spring  some  early  flower 
The  wintry  grave  where  it  has  lain. 


62 


THE  QUEST. 

'*  WHERE  is  my  body  ?  I  cannot  find  it  ! 

I  have  been  seeking  the  wide  world  over. 
O  who  could  hide  it,  O  who  could  bind  it, 

From  me  a  roamer,  a  lonely  rover  ? 
Where  is  my  body  ?  I  cannot  find  it !  " 

When  from  the  earth-life  her  soul  was  parted, 
It  stood  in  silence  and  woe  and  wonder, 

And  now  her  spirit  seeks  broken-hearted 
tier  body  lying  the  green  earth  under — 

For  from  her  body  her  soul  is  parted. 


OFF   CRETE. 

SOFTLY  the  perfume-giving  gales 

Blow  from  the  Cyclades  ; 
They  fan  the  cheeks,  they  swell  the  sails, 

They  stir  the  seas. 

Above  the  lovely  olive  lands 

And  waters  blue  below, 
Far  up  in  cloudland  Ida  stands 

White  with  white  snow. 


64 


WINTER. 

Now  round  the  rivulet's  castle  walls 
Resound  no  more  the  summer's  praises, 

But  scarce  heard  through  its  frozen  halls 
A  melody  runs  in  secret  places  : 

For  though  the  wood  lies  deep  with  snow 
Which  veils  from  us  the  mosses'  slumbers, 

The  stream  with  soft,  unceasing  flow 
Goes  gliding  down  in  golden  numbers. 

What  language  speaks  the  beauteous  stream, 
With  murmurs  under  its  green  apsis, 

Unconscious  voicings  of  its  dream, 
And  music  of  its  gentle  lapses  ? 

Is  this  but  gravity  which  sings  ? 

Or  blithe  joy  in  a  sense  of  being, 
Or  knowledge  of  more  wondrous  things, 

And  miracles  beyond  our  seeing? 


65 


A  BALLAD  OF  WAR-TIME. 

AT  night  upon  a  lonely  road 

A  traveller  hurries  fast, 
And  who  has  known  his  drear  abode 

Will  look  at  him  aghast  ! 

He  comes  from  distant  foreign  lands, 
And  something  strange  he  bears  ; 

He  holds  his  own  head  in  his  hands, 
And  wofully  it  stares. 

A  soldier  is  he,  and  was  slain 

By  some  keen  scimetar, 
And  long,  long  years  his  form  has  lain 

By  high-walled  Temesvar. 

Each  night  his  home  to  find  he  tries, 

Beside  the  Elbe  wave — 
In  vain  !   when  dawn  is  come  he  lies 

In  this  same  cursed  grave. 
66 


IN   THE   SHADE   OF    YGDRASIL.  6/ 

Ah,  piteous  fate,  that  he  who  shed 

For  love  his  patriot  blood, 
Restless  and  longing,  even  dead, 

Must  lie  in  hated  sod  ! 

At  night  upon  a  lonely  road 

A  traveller  hurries  fast, 
And  who  has  known  his  drear  abode 

Will  look  at.  him  aghast ! 


TO  LITTLE  ROSALIE. 

IF  you  were  in  my  garden,  maiden, 

The  flowers  would  say  : 
"  This  truly  is  our  little  sister 

Of  yesterday, 
The  one  we  thought  the  angels  laid  in 

Her  dreams  away — 
How  sweeter,  dearer  since  we  missed  her 

The  flowers  would  say. 

They  would  your  tiny  form  so  treasure, 

You  could  not  go, 
Your  wee,  wee  feet  and  hanging  tresses 

Entangle  so, 
That  you  would  lie  amidst  their  pressure 

And  sheen  and  glow 
And  sweet  breath  and  old-time  caresses, 

And  could  not  go. 
68 


IN   THE   SHADE   OF    YGDRASIL,  69 

The  trees  would  look  down  glad  and  smiling 

Upon  you  too  ; 
The  rose-buds  would  burst  quick  asunder 

To  look  at  you, 
The  skies  find  such  blue  eyes  beguiling 

As  lovers  do, 
And  brown  bees  haunt  your  mouth  in  wonder, 

But  fear  of  you. 


THE  WRAITH  AND  THE  ROSES. 

I  KNOW  a  hundred  roses 
By  their  low  dreamy  names, 

And  where  the  wide  green  close  is, 
They  rise  as  rosy  flames. 

Upon  the  moonlit  hour 
When  my  beloved  returns, 

The  flame  in  every  flower 
Leaps  up  and  livelier  burns. 

They  wait  for  her  returning, 

For  the  wraith  that  wanders  round  ; 
And  keep  their  bale-fires  burning 

Along  the  glowing  ground. 


70 


THE  PYTHONESS. 

HAS  none  thy  grace  and  beauty  sung, 

Nor  given  thee  caresses  ? 
Has  no  one  wish  to  dwell  among 

Thy  far  off  wildernesses  ? 

Yet  thou  art  delicate  and  fair, 

O  fair  thou  art  and  slender  ! 
Canst  thou  not  charm  into  thy  lair, 

Nor  trust  nor  love  engender  ? 

How  bright  and  strange  and  strong  thine  eyes, 

Deceiving  and  disarming ! 
'T  is  good  that  most  of  us  are  wise 

Beyond  thy  might  of  harming  ! 


THE  POEM. 

ALAS  !  (how  sad  a  word  alas  is  !  ) 
I  would  again  I  were  that  room  in, 
So  dear  because  of  one  dear  woman 

Whom  Memory  meets  but  never  passes, 
The  chamber  her  great  eyes  illumine — 

Alas  !  How  sad  a  word  alas  is  ! 

She  was  a  Poem,  a  sweet  thing  created 
By  God  or  some  undreamed-of  forces, 
Planned  ere  the  suns  began  their  courses, 

And  in  long  ages  after  fated 

To  seek  again  her  secret  sources — 

A  gentle  Poem,  some  sweet  thing  created. 

How  very  sad  my  soul,  alas,  is, 
To  be  again  the  splendid  room  in, 
Which  those  two  torches  do  illumine, 

Where  Memory  halts  and  never  passes, 
Because  of  love  of  one  dear  woman, 

But  kneels  remote  in  shadowy  masses  ! 


72 


TO   AN   OUTCAST. 

IN  storm  and  strife, 
Amid  the  city's  vicious  haunts  you  grew 

Through  all  your  life 
Ancestral  ghosts  made  sport  of  you. 

They  scoffed,  they  spurned, 
They  led  where  you  must  stumbling  fall ; 

Where'er  you  turned, 
Fate  reared  its  massive,  frowning  wall. 


73 


LENAU. 

You  loved  the  mountain  solitude, 
The  song  of  birds,  the  fragrant  air  ; 

And  in  the  silence  of  the  wood 
You  felt  that  God  spoke  there. 

You  sang  of  these  in  songs  so  glad 
And  holy,  that  they  reached  the  stars. 

Why  were  you  cursed  and  thus  made  mad, 
Hemmed  in  by  walls  and  bars  ? 


74 


THE  MUMMY. 

I  LAID  her  memory  away 

With  one  sweet  rose  that  she  had  given, 
Here  in  a  secret  drawer  one  day — 

No  record  has  that  day  in  Heaven. 

And  many  soulless  years  have  died 
Ere  happy  chance  again  reveals  it, 

All  bandaged,  rolled  and  swathed  and  tied 
In  one  long  ribbon  which  conceals  it. 

Unrolled,  but  fragrant  dust  I  stir, 

Yet  she  is  there  as  love  once  showed  her- 

For  the  dead  rose  in  its  sepulchre 
Embalmed  the  maiden  with  its  odor. 


75 


TO  LILI. 

DEEP  in  a  lonely  valley  hangs 

A  flower  so  sweet,  a  flower  so  pale, 

O  it  were  balm  for  many  pangs, 
Could  loveliness  alone  avail ! 

Its  perfumes  glide  forth  on  the  air 

And  fill  the  wood  impalpably  ; 
In  sooth,  dear  maid,  the  flower  seems  there 

Not  thou — but  Earth's  late  dream  of  thee  ! 


HIDE  AND  SEEK. 

THOUGH  loitering  far,  I  hear  the  shout 
Of  happy  children  in  their  play  ; 

Some  hide  and  others  seek  them  out — 
How  sweet  it  were  to  be  as  they  ! 

Ah  !  merrily  their  voices  come 

Across  the  churchyard  green  to  me, 

And  mingle  with  the  distant  hum 

Of  wandering  wind  and  bird  and  bee. 

Play,  little  ones,  and  run  and  shout 

Among  the  purple  heather  blooms  ! 
If  some  day  cares  should  be  about, 
Or  old  wan  Sorrow  seek  you  out — 
Then  run  and  hide  among  the  tombs  ! 


77 


MOONRISE. 

AT  first  a  luminous  red  rim 

Rose  from  the  sea  behind  a  sail, 

And  made  it  loom  up  strange  and  dim, 
A  spectre  with  a  gleaming  trail. 

Then  through  a  cloud  all  torn  in  strips 
By  winds  that  wailed  above  the  scars, 

Straight  through  the  masts  of  anchored  ships, 
The  full  moon  thrust  long  golden  bars  ! 


THE  PHANTOMS  JN  MY  DREAMS  RESEMBLE. 

THE  phantoms  in  my  dreams  resemble 

The  soul  of  thee  ; 
They  tremble  as  thy  soul  did  tremble 

From  love  of  me  ; 
I  fain  would  clasp  them  in  their  tremor 

As  I  clasped  thee, 
But  frightened  fly  they  from  the  dreamer, 

Like  sounds  made  free  ; 
Like  those  sweet  sounds  the  winds  are  shaking 

From  flower  and  tree, 
Which  sigh  and  murmur  in  awaking 

Melodiously. 
Ah,  thou  dear  God,  if  thou  hast  power, 

If  God  thou  be, 
Restore,  restore  one  gentle  hour 

With  her  to  me  ! 


79 


SAY  NOT  GOOD-BYE. 

SAY  not  good-bye,  for  we  shall  meet  again, 

Perhaps  it  may  be  soon — 
Somewhere  on  earth,  in  sunshine  or  in  rain, 

Beneath  the  sun  or  moon. 

And  if  not  there,  then  in  some  other  sphere — 

Perhaps  it  may  be  soon — 
In  some  rose-garden  where  the  flowery  year 

Keeps  always  in  its  June. 

Somewhere,  somehow,  some  day — to  guess  were  vain- 
Some  night  or  dawn  or  noon. 

Say  not  good-bye,  for  we  shall  meet  again — 
Perhaps  it  may  be  soon. 


80 


A     HEALTH. 

A  STRANGE  Knight  with  his  visor  drawn, 
With  gleaming  eye  and  glancing  spear, 
Sought  entrance  at  the  gate  at  dawn  ; 
His  princely  voice  and  air  austere 
Bespoke  both  Knight  and  steed  good  cheer- 
But  ere  the  eve  the  guest  was  gone. 

Aye,  ere  the  eve  came  red  and  brown 
Up  from  the  ocean  with  the  breeze, 

The  stranger  left  the  coast  and  town, 
But  with  the  fairest  maid  of  these, 
To  cross  the  gray  November  seas,  • 

And  bind  her  to  his  foreign  crown. 

Deep,  deep  this  bitter  cup    I  drain 

In  honor  of  her  gentle  eyes, 
Her  tender  mouth  that  showed  no  pain, 

Her  hair  blown  under  alien  skies  ; 

Of  her  become  the  plunderer's  prize, 
Of  her  I  shall  not  see  again  ! 

6 

81 


TO  A  MODERN  LILITH. 

BEHIND  your  bosom  hidden 
Is  what  you  call  your  heart, 

Which  sometimes  leaps  unbidden 
And  makes  its  owner  start. 

But  quiet  it,  I  pray  you, 
Lest  the  coiled  secret  thing 

Should  rise  up  and  betray  you 
To  someone  with  its  sting  ! 


82 


A  WISH. 

I  FAIN  would  be  a  troubadour 

(If  one  poor  wish  be  not  a  sin) 
With  voice  to  charm  and  song  to  lure, 

And  some  melodious  mandolin. 

Then  I  would  sing  a  song  so  sweet, 

So  strange  and  low  and  strong  and  brave^ 

That  it  should  pierce  beneath  my  feet 
And  thrill  you  in  your  quiet  grave  ! 


STEADFASTNESS. 

I  DO  not  care  what  change  may  come  to  you 
With  the  slow  passing  of  your  gentle  days ; 

Whether  the  years  molest  you  and  undo    ' 
That  outward  loveliness,  those  graceful  ways. 

No  matter  if  your  face  and  form  be  marred 

By  the  vicissitudes  of  time  and  dole  ; 
These  cannot  change  the  treasures  which  they  guard- 

The  noble  heart,  high  mind,  and  generous  soul. 


FROM  THE  PRISON   WINDOWS. 

MY  soul  beholds  a  lonely  lake, 
Around  whose  sounding  shore 

A  maiden  plays  upon  a  lyre 
A  melody  known  no  more. 

I  ask  my  gaoler  if  he  hears 
Her  lyre  beneath  the  stars  ; 

He  says  it  is  the  wind  that  beats 
Upon  my  prison  bars. 


85 


THE  LONELY  HOUSE. 

SWEET  friend  she  was  to  one  and  all, 
More  than  sweet  friend  to  me. 

I  sought  her  door  at  evenfall 
Just  home  from  oversea. 

But  at  her  threshold  lay  the  snow 
In  drifts  that  showed  no  mark  ; 

The  house  stood  like  a  thing  of  woe, 
Empty,  deserted,  dark. 


86 


NATURE  AND  MAN. 

THE  face  of  Nature  does  but  rarely  change. 

Age  after  age  on  everlasting  sands 
Sing  the  lone  seas  their  solemn  dirge  and  strange  ; 

The  rivers  run  down  through  the  furrowed  lands 
Held  steadfast  by  the  mountains,  range  on  range* ; 

The  summer  flowers  succeed  the  winter  snows, 
Sunshine  the  storm,  and  starry  night  the  day. 

Ever  returning  with  the  self-same  shows 
Insensate  matter  holds  eternal  sway, 

But  conscious  soul  lives  one  short  hour  and  goes  ! 


87 


THE  UNKNOWN  MUSIC. 

'T  is  said  in  dying  one  can  often  hear, 

Ere  the  soul  goes, 
Faint  melodies  that  ever  come  more  near, 

But  no  one  knows. 

A  murmuring,  soothing,  lulling,  lingering  sound, 

A  holy  song, 
From  the  far  worlds  that  we  have  never  found, 

Though  seeking  long. 

Just  as  the  perfume  fills  a  lonely  flower 

In  the  wood's  shade, 
Ethereal  harmonies  at  the  parting  hour 

The  soul  pervade. 

It  may  be  echoes  of  the  angels'  speech — 

But  no  one  knows — 
A  far  sweet  music  out  of  mortal  reach, 

Till  the  soul  goes. 


88 


THE  OASIS. 

I  CAME  from  desert  solitudes,  vast,  dreary, 
Mouth  parched,  and  with  the  glare 

Of  long  gray  gleaming  levels,  eyes  grown  weary, 
And  found  sweet  solace  there.— 

A  patch  of  pleasant  green,  a  shady  cover, 

A  spring,  a  palm-tree  tall  ; 
And  bougainvilleas  splashed  their  crimson  over 

A  line  of  yellow  wall. 


MIGRATION. 

DEATH  soon  grows  busy  with  the  leaves  and  grass  and 

flowers  ; 
He    brings  white  cohorts  from    his   frozen    Northern 

caves, 

Which  shall  besiege  them  in  their  happy  summer  bowers, 
And  wound  and  slay  and  lay  them  in  their  whitening 
graves. 

'T  is  well  ye  leave  the  dreary  Northern  clime  and  shun 
To  meet  the  icy  blasts  and  snows  by  winter  hurled, 

Wise  birds,  that  yearly  follow  the  warm,  pleasant  sun 
And  the  green  summer,  down  the  sides  of  the  world  ! 


90 


SLUMBER     SONG. 

SING  a  sweet  song, 

Tender  and  low  and  long, 
Until  my  sorrows  deep 

Drowned  in  the  sea  of  sleep 
Never  can  come  again 

With  ache  or  pain. 

Over  on  yonder  hill, 

Hear  the  lone  whip-poor-will 
Singing  in  dreams  a  song — 

Tender  and  low  and  long, 
Over  and  over  again 

That  far  sweet  strain. 

Listen  !  and  then  sing  slow 
While  my  heart  to  and  fro 

Sways  into  slumber  long 
With  the  low  solemn  song, 

Never  to  wake  again 
To  ache  or  pain. 


TO  COUNT  CARL  VON  SNOILSKY. 

RARE  verse  is  thine  wherein  we  hear 
The  songs  of  beauty,  truth,  and  art, 

And  sounding  low  and  deep  and  clear 
The  throbbing  of  the  human  heart. 

Rare  man,  in  whom  harmoniously 
Great  thoughts  and  fancies  blend, 

Thou  art  thyself  a  melody 
Whose  music  cannot  end. 


92 


WHERE  'ER  YOU  GO. 

WHERE'ER  you  go,  through  sun  or  shadows, 
Up  rocky  steeps,  or  down  long  hollows, 

Across  broad  moors  or  flowery  meadows, 
Where'er  you  go,  my  heart  still  follows. 

To  be  with  you  in  grief  and  danger, 
Swifter  than  is  the  flight  of  swallows, 

Through  Death's  domains  and   regions  stranger, 
Where'er  you  go,  my  heart  still  follows. 


93 


AN  IDLE  SPARROW'S  SONG. 

I  AM  no  travelling  tyro 
Nor  common  stay-at-home, 

But  have  a  house  in  Cairo 
Beyond  the  midland  foam. 

'T  is  in  the  Sook-Attareen, 

Where  all  is  life  and  stir, 
Where  merchants  strange  and  foreign 

Sell  sandal,  musk,  and  myrrh. 

As  long  as  winter  tarries 

I  stay — then  seek  anew, 
Up  via  Rome  and  Paris, 

My  house-boat  moored  at  Kew. 


94 


HER  SOUL  AND  BODY. 

THE  wine  was  in  the  golden  beaker  ; 

Its  red  foam  frothed  and  bubbled  up  ; 
For  some  fine  spirit  I  was  seeker  ; 

I  found  one  in  that  shining  cup. 

I  longed  to  breathe  the  sweets  it  scattered, 
To  breathe,  to  taste,  did  Fate  permit, 

But  from  my  lips  the  cup  fell  shattered  ; 
Then  fell  and  broke  my  heart  with  it. 


95 


A   WOOD-THOUGHT. 

THE  very  stillness  weighs  upon  the  ear, 
The  very  loneliness  o'ercrowds  the  mind, 
As  if  a  thousand  shadowy,  undefined, 

Portentous  mysteries  were  thronging  here. 

One  feels  a  Presence  it  were  vain  to  seek, 

Full  of  all  secrets  since  the  world  was  young  ; 
And  prophecies  that  tremble  on  its  tongue, 

But  are  unspoken,  for  it  cannot  speak. 


96 


REINCARNATION. 

ONE  of  your  ancestry  was  likewise  fair 

As  some  soft  spring-flower  hidden  in  the  snow  ; 

Like  yours  her  eyes  were,  and  her  mouth,  her  hair — 
It  is  not  strange  that  she  was  loth  to  go  ! 

She  would  not  go  ;  more  strong  her  spirit  grew, 
Till  she  might  enter  your  sweet  soul's  domain, 

And  work  her  will  there  as  if  she  were  you, 

And  smile  and  charm  and  bless  the  world  again  ! 


SUNSET. 

LEAF  after  leaf  unfolding  slowly, 

The  sunset  blossoms  in  red  and  gold, 

Tremulous,  solemn,  peaceful,  holy, 
Petal  by  petal  and  fold  on  fold. 

First  the  pink  bud  and  then  the  flower, 

Leaf  after  leaf  and  fold  on  fold, 
Expanding  and  blending  to  bloom  in  an  hour 

With  rose-colored  petals  and  heart  of  gold. 

But  soon  the  flower  is  rent  and  riven, 

The  great  gold  heart  droops  lower  and  lower 

The  petals  are  scattered  in  drifts  and  driven 
Into  the  night  to  be  seen  no  more. 


98 


RESIGNATION. 

ALL  things  change  and  go 

Like  the  wind  and  the  dew, 
Staying  a  moment  so, 

Then  hastening  anew — 
All  things  change  and  go  ; 

Why  should  not  you  ? 
They  fade,  they  fly,  they  flow  ; 

Now  life  goes  too. 

Now  happy  life  goes  too, 

Out  into  nothingness  ; 
Unseen  it  passes  through 

The  portals  of  distress. 
Now  happy  life  goes  too — 

Resignedly  ?     Yes. 
Wherefore  regret  or  rue 

What  could  not  bless  ? 


99 


IN  A  DAHABIAH. 

A  DESERT  lies  on  either  hand 

In  stern  and  lone  repose  ; 
Between  the  wastes  of  yellow  sand 

The  dark  Nile  flows. 

All  through  the  valley  strait  and  green 

Are  wafted  faint  perfumes 
From  fields  of  clover  and  sweet-bean 

And  lentil-blooms. 

Palm  groves  and  minarets  and  towers, 
Like  dreams  before  the  eye, 

Pass  slowly  as  through  drowsy  hours 
Our  boat  drifts  by. 

The  dark-robed  women  file  in  troops 
To  fill  their  water  jars, 
100 


IN   THE   SHADE   OF    YGDRASIL.  IOI 

Where  wind-bound  boats  lie  moored  in  groups 
With  idle  spars. 

All  day  a  strident  monotone 

Along  the  shore  line  steals — 
The  noise  of  wells,  the  creak  and  groan 

Of  water-wheels. 

Out  on  the  river  softly  floats 

The  boatmen's  wailing  song, 
Where  up  and  down  the  swan-winged  boats 

Glide  all  day  long. 

Soon  sharp  against  the  reddening  sky, 

By  sunset  canopied, 
Looms  up  remote  and  shadowy 

A  pyramid. 

Strange  sounds  by  curious  wading-birds 

Are  heard  along  the  bars, 
When  night  brings  forth  too  fair  for  words 

Her  moon  and  stars. 


IO2  IN   THE   SHADE   OF    YGDRASIL. 

Then  lo,  a  ghost  ! — Seneferoo 
Comes  from  his  giant  tomb 

To  guard  his  Egypt  all  night  through 
On  huge  Maydoom  ! 


RESURRECTION. 

IN  their  sweet  graves  the  violets  repine, 
Among  the  roots  of  the  old  sycamore. 

When  will  the  snow  go  and  the  spring  sun  shine, 
And  there  be  knocking  at  their  tomb's  low  door  ? 

Ah,  when  the  gentle  angel  of  the  rain 

Shall  sound  soft  summons  on  each  sepulchre, 

They  will  burst  straightway  from  their  graves  again 
Into  God's  presence  and  then  scarcely  stir  ! 


103 


STARLIGHT  AND  BULBUL. 

SWEETHEART  so  sweet,  there  is  no  word 
Can  quite  portray  you  as  you  are, 

No  form  of  speech — just  song  of  bird 
And  tender  light  of  summer  star. 

I  would  that  I  were  very  wise, 

That  I  might  tell  you  what  they  say 

From  lonely  wood  and  tranquil  skies — 
The  star  by  night,  the  bird  by  day. 


104 


THE  DREAM-CHILD. 

How,  having  held  her  perfect  face 

Between  my  hands  and  kissed  her  mouth, 

How  could  I  lose  her  into  space 

Somewhere  East,  West,  or  North,  or  South  ? 

Now  sometimes  in  the  crowded  street, 

Above  the  tumult  of  the  throng, 
I  see,  I  hear,  afar  and  sweet, 

A  phantom  face,  a  haunting  song. 

Once  when  the  sea  was  very  gray, 

All  gray  with  mist  and  gray  with  rain, 

I  saw  her  flash  and  fade  away 
In  foamy  wastes  of  waves  again. 

And  once  in  desert  lands,  I  sought 
For  peace  that  has  its  dwelling  there, 

When  lo  !  some  strange  mirage  had  wrought 
Her  face  upon  the  empty  air  ! 


105 


WITH  SOME  LILIES-OF-THE-VALLEY. 

THIS  morn  awaking  in  affright, 

They  saw  the  snow  instead  of  May, 

Around — the  wide  land  clothed  in  white  ; 
Above — the  skies  all  strange  and  gray. 

And  here  they  are  upon  their  stem  ; 

I  bring  the  poor  pale  things  to  you 
Who  will  be  summer  unto  them — 

Summer  and  sun  and  wind  and  dew  ! 


106 


FOR  A   DEAD  COMEDIAN. 

PLAY  no  sad  air  upon  the  chalumeau, 

No  mournful  melody  upon  the  lute, 
But  rather  let  the  merriest  music  flow 

Up  through  the  chamber  where  he  lieth  mute — 
Perhaps  he  listeneth  ! 

Come  then  with  song  and  dance  and  joyful  tune  ! 

Bring  in  the  cymbals  and  the  stirring  fife, 
The  hautboy  and  the  comical  bassoon — 

For  he  who  roused  up  laughter  all  his  life 
Should  make  a  jest  of  Death  ! 


107 


FATE. 

"  WHAT  must  be  must  be  " — say  it  over  and  over, 
Until  you  see  and  feel  its  meaning  clear, 

Till  griefs  and  sorrows  that  around  you  hover 
Shall  bring  no  more  a  tear. 

Through  all  the  day  repeat  it  over  and  over, 
In  night  and  silence,  on  the  land  and  sea  ; 

Perhaps  it  will  requite  you,  O  world-rover — 
It  is  philosophy  ! 

Thus  bitter  balsam  does  the  soul  discover 

For  life  and  death  and  every  pain  and  smart — 

A  hopeless  solace  for  each  mourning  lover — 
A  balm  to  ease  the  heart. 


108 


THE  LOST  ARGOSIES. 

I  'VE  looked  in  vain  and  long  for  them, 
My  red-sailed  galleys  and  triremes 

That  sailed  a  sea  too  strong  for  them 
'Mid  windy  paths  and  ocean  streams, 

And  now  I  make  a  song  for  them — 

My  far-tossed  wrecks  of  dreams. 

They  sailed  and  dear  shapes  went  with  them 
Swaying  along  their  rosy  wales, 

And  comely  rowers  sent  with  them 

Made  songs  that  echoed  on  their  trails  ; 

Sang  melodies,  and  blent  with  them 

Were  sounds  of  oars  and  sails. 

An  island — sirens  sing  of  it — 

They  sought  with  sail  and  helping  oar. 
109 


IIO  IN    THE   SHADE   OF    YGDRASIL. 

No  token  yet  they  bring  of  it, 

Nor  of  the  careless  friends  they  bore, 
Though  I  am  lawful  King  of  it — 
The  Isle  of  Nevermore. 

I  've  looked  in  vain  and  long  for  them, 
My  red-sailed  galleys  and  triremes, 

That  braved  a  sea  too  strong  for  them 
'Mid  windy  paths  and  ocean  streams, 

And  now  I  make  a  song  for  them — 

My  far-tossed  wrecks  of  dreams. 


HYPNOTISM. 

COME  nearer,  let  me  see  your  face, 

For  just  a  moment's  space  ; 
Bend  close  with  those  clear  tranquil  eyes, 

Mysterious,  wonder-wise. 

Then  let  your  words  of  magic  art 

Like  music  seek  my  heart — 
"  Sleep  long — sleep  well,  whate'er  befall, 

Until  you  hear  me  call  !  " — 

Then  shall  sweet  visions  take  control 

Of  my  blest,  happy  soul  ; 
And  what  if  thus — unmoved  by  fears — 

I  sleep  a  hundred  years  ! 

What  matter  if  they  bury  me 
Deep  down  in  earth  or  sea  ! — 

I  must  awaken  and  rejoice 
When  next  I  hear  your  voice. 


in 


HOPES. 

'T  is  when  the  spirit  is  most  sorely  pressed 
By  the  long  weariness  of  lonely  hours, 

New  hopes  spring  up  and  blossom  in  the  breast, 
Like  to  a  rosebush  with  a  thousand  flowers. 

They  bud,  they  blossom,  then  their  petals  fall 
In  downy  drifts  blown  to  and  fro  by  sighs — 

Disturb  them  not,  for  ah,  beneath  them  all 
Perhaps  the  heart  now  deeply  buried  lies  ! 


112 


NO  MORE. 

A  SHADOW  creepeth  through  the  door 

With  dread  to  all  who  hear  it, 
So  softly  through  the  open  door, 

With  loitering  step  along  the  floor, 
A  shadow  with  the  name  No  More, 

A  dim  and  haunting  spirit. 

It  stirreth  in  the  lonely  air 

That  breatheth  in  the  hallway  ; 
It  rustleth  up  and  down  the  stair, 

And  round  the  cradle  and  the  chair, 
All  through  the  rooms  so  darkly  bare 

It  sigheth,  sigheth  alway. 

It  lingereth  like  a  faint  perfume 

In  each  uncertain  corner  ; 
It  stayeth  as  a  still  perfume 

Upon  the  air  in  every  room — 
"  No  more — no  more — no  more  " — the  doom 

It  murmureth  to  the  mourner  ! 


113 


WIND-MUSIC. 

O  WIND,  the  wintry  prairie  grass 
Sighs  and  sobs  unceasingly, 

Rustles  and  crackles  as  you  pass — 
A  wide  brown  melancholy  sea  ! 

Sometimes  from  out  the  Northern  firs 
Your  threnody  majestic  flows, 

And  deep  the  mighty  forest  stirs 
To  sing  its  centuries  of  woes. 

Or  some  South  garden's  loveliness 
Lures  you,  when  violet  dusk  begins, 

To  murmur  through  the  fragrances 
Of  roses  and  of  mandarins. 

And  always  on  the  ocean  shore 
In  a  paean  wild  or  requiem  long, 
114 


IN   THE   SHADE   OF    YGDRASIL.  115 

A  wailing  dirge  for  evermore, 
One  hears  your  everlasting  song. 

But  what  strange  joy,  what  keen  delight, 
Are  yours,  O  waif  of  many  lands, 

When  secretly  you  find  by  night 

A  wind-harp  strung  by  human  hands  ! 


DO  NOT  GROW  OLD. 

Do  not  grow  old,  there  is  too  much  to  lose  ; 

The  world  has  need  of  all  these  precious  things — 
This  fresh  young  face,  these  eyes  like  woodland  springs, 

This  shadowy  hair  which  every  zephyr  woos, 

These  subtle  graces,  all  these  lovely  hues, 

This  voice  like  echoes  from  melodious  strings. 

Do  not  grow  old,  there  is  too  much  to  lose ; 

The  world  has  need  of  all  these  precious  things. 

Let  us  not  think  of  blight  and  frosty  dews 
Such  as  to  flowers  the  harsher  season  brings, 
But  through  your  body,  by  sweet  chastenings, 
Let  heart  and  soul  perennial  youth  diffuse  : 
Do  not  grow  old,  there  is  too  much  to  lose. 


116 


TWO  VIOLETS  SHINING  IN  THE  DEW. 

Two  violets  shining  in  the  dew 
Look  up  like  eyes  at  me — I  start, 

A  keen  swift  memory  of  you 
Cuts  straight  into  my  heart ! 

For  with  my  soul's  eyes  I  can  trace 
A  shape  that  will  not  let  me  stir, 

With  fold  on  fold  of  filmy  lace 
And  shadowy  silk  and  minever. 

I  see  them  from  a  mist  of  tears  ! 

Your  eyes  so  tranquil,  soft,  and  blue 
Peer  through  the  mould  of  many  years — 

Two  violets  shining  in  the  dew. 


THE  CHURCH  OF  ST.  JACQUES. 

THERE  is  a  hush  of  peace  within, 
And  in  the  holy  silence  there, 

A  priest  says  mass  for  souls  of  sin  ; 
And  two  lone  figures  kneel  in- prayer 
Close  to  the  chancel-step. 

Outside  a  ribald  throng,  a  crowd, 
Is  loitering  round  the  sacred  walls; 

They  gamble,  dance,  sing,  bawl  aloud, 
In  tents  and  booths  and  market-stalls- 
'T  is  Sunday  in  Dieppe  ! 


118 


RONDEL. 

A  LITTLE  love  a  little  while, 

And  then  we  part  to  meet  no  more  ; 

For  never  can  old  Time  restore 
One  little  sigh,  one  little  smile. 

Before  us  shall  the  years  defile 
A  woful  line,  a  phantom  corps  ; 

A  little  love  a  little  while, 

And  then  we  part  to  meet  no  more. 

Yet  ere  we  come  to  reconcile 
Ourselves  to  destiny — before 
We  gaze  alone  from  either  shore 

At  the  waste  waters  mile  on  mile — 

A  little  love  a  little  while. 


119 


A  SONG  OF  YESTERDAY. 

COME,  sweet,  and  sing  these  songs  again  ; 

They  made  a  murmur  in  my  heart, 
An  echoing  sense  of  loss  or  pain, 
An  immemorial  soft  refrain, 

So  sweet  they  were,  so  sweet  thou  art  ! 

And  if  upon  the  morning  road 

I  falter  weary,  lone,  and  pale, 
Some  sudden  echo  lifts  the  load, 
Some  strain  of  yesternight,  when  flowed 
The  music  of  the  nightingale. 


120 


EAST   AND  WEST. 

SHUT  in  with  books  and  pipe  and  crackling  fire, 

Hafiz,  I  roam  with  you 
A  gorgeous  garden  to  my  heart's  desire  ! 
The  bulbul  sings  as  though  it  might  expire 

In  balsam,  moonlight,  dew. 

Outside  my  window-square,  the  black  clouds  lower  ; 

Hear  the  wind  howl  and  blow  ! 

The  shutter  creaks  ;  the  great  trees  quiver  and  cower, 
And  round  yon  huge  and  lonely  lantern-tower 

Wild  sweeps  the  wintry  snow  ! 


121 


REMINISCENCE  OF  TATOL 

SOMETIMES  the  heart  must  feed  on  memories, 
To  stay  its  longings  and  assuage  its  pain  ; 
Old  scenes,  old  songs,  old  faces  come  again, 
Else  might  it  perish  where  no  Beauty  is, 
For  life  has  need  of  Beauty's  ministries. 

Thus  at  this  moment  all  my  cares  are  gone  ; 

The  hot  streets  vanish  with  their  wild  uproar  ; 

I  smell  the  pine-woods  and  the  flowers  once  more, 
And  see  the  sun  shine  softly  down  upon 
Blue  Salamis  and  gray  Pentelikon. 


122 


WITH  A  BOOK  OF  VERSES. 

I  WOULD  that  some  one  verse  of  mine 

Might  hold  enough  of  you 
To  keep  it  fresh  and  fair  and  fine 
A  year  or  two — 

A  year  or  two  beyond  our  death — 

Surely  that  were  not  long 
To  have  your  spirit  like  a  breath 
Pervade  my  song. 

So  when  one  came  to  turn  the  leaf 

Whereon  it  printed  lies, 
A  perfume  keen  and  sweet  and  brief 
Might  chance  to  rise, 

As  if  your  lingering  soul  forsook 
Some  far  world  here  to  stay, 
As  if  close  shut  within  the  book 
A  crushed  rose  lay. 


U.C.BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


YB  13566 


